Midmorning. Beanie comes into my room, slams Blackout down on my bed. She’s wild-eyed, almost trembling.
“You were right,” she said. Bursts out with a laugh. “I…I…”
“You need All Clear.” I’m grinning.
“It’s in the library basket.”
She’s been reading Blackout in between other books for weeks now. I had several false starts with it myself, and I’d warned her that it can be slow going at first, while you’re getting a handle on who everyone is and where (when) they are. “But you’ll hit a point,” I’d predicted, “maybe two-thirds of the way through the book, where you won’t be able to put it down.”
And I knew from experience—actually, I think some of you warned me here—that the second she finished Blackout, she’d be desperate to leap into the sequel. It’s really more of a Part Two, and you can’t get that cover cracked open fast enough.
“Enjoy,” I tell her. We both know I won’t be seeing much of her today.
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And of course after two weeks, I’ve forgotten what I read